


Coerthan Backstreets

by Ryumaru



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Heavensward spoilers, Multiple Warriors of Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryumaru/pseuds/Ryumaru
Summary: R'tahn Tia and Vantel Sarmante have a day off, and end up having less of a relaxing time than they thought. Turns out, Ishgard has a few unsavory elements left over....





	Coerthan Backstreets

The pure Coerthan snow drifted lazily down, settling on the tiled roofs of Ishgardian nobility and commoner alike. The wind was gentle this evening, and it pushed flakes about like a housecat playing with a feather. Fiery pink mixed with steely grey overhead, as the sunset fought with the heavy clouds to catch the eye. Already, the lamps were lit in the streets, and the knights of the city were on their early evening patrols.

Walking back from the Forgotten Knight, bellies full and bodies warmed by strong brew, R'tahn Tia and Vantel Sarmante were taking the evening as it came – a slow, quiet one, a night off from the trials of being Warriors of Light.

R'tahn staggered as his toe hit a loose cobblestone, but the miqo'te caught himself before he could fall. Vantel shook her head and shot him a sly smile.

“Had a little much, did we?” she said.

R'tahn's baleful stare did nothing to dissuade her smirking. “I've had a lot less than you,” he said, “and I don't recall the last time you left the Knight sober.”

Vantel shrugged. The links of the mail she wore under her winter coat clinked briefly. “Never been a problem for me.”

“And the time you were so far into your cups, you said... what was it? 'I swear to the drunk I'm not Twelve,' I believe. Slurred it to the watchmen who had just watched you fail to climb stairs three times.”

“That,” Vantel said with a waggle of her eyebrows, “was a special occasion.”

“Ah, yes.” R'tahn sighed. “I seem to recall something about a... what did you call it?”

“The Booty List.”

“Yes. That.” The flat edge in his voice could have planed wood.

“Hey, it's not every day that you get to add someone li-”

R'tahn held up a hand. “Hold that thought,” he said, eyeing the surroundings. “Thought I....”

Vantel clapped him on the shoulder. “You're being paranoid again. You did sleep last night, didn't you?”

“Yes, yes.” He rolled his eyes. The other miqo'te was an invaluable friend, to be sure, but his paranoia had saved their lives more than once. “Just can't be too cautious, I suppose.”

“Damn,” Vantel grunted. “Made me lose track of my thoughts.”

“Not too difficult, as I recall.”

“Where was I- hey, I heard that.”

“Hm?” Cocking his head to the side, R'tahn brushed silvery hair away from his ear. “Heard what? I didn't say anything.” He glanced around, then shot his friend a look of mischievous triumph.

Vantel harrumphed and began to pout. “Fine, you can walk back to Fortemps Manor by yourself.”

“And leave you to freeze to death out here in the Brume?” He chuckled. “I'd sooner dive into Moraby Bay with iron leggings on. I doubt the manor guard will let in such a disreputable ruffian such as yourself. Unaccompanied, at least.”

With a feral smirk, Vantel leaned conspiratorially towards her friend. “They didn't seem to mind when I came back from meeting Lord Haurchefant. You know, when my clothing mysteriously vanished and I only had my smallclothes?”

R'tahn theatrically removed his goggles and rubbed at his eyes. “I'd been trying to forget.”

The woman stifled a loud laugh as she relived the memory. “I daresay they won't forget any time soon. Especially after I-”

“Seven hells, Vantel, I do not need to know!”

The pair stopped, both sensing something amiss. The fastest (and safest) route back to the manor in which they were allowed to stay as guests did not go through the freezing, dilapidated area known as the Brume. However, the road that night had been closed for repairs, following an incident with a particularly volatile alchemist in the employ of the Temple Knights. Therefore, the pair had little choice but to return along a less well-trafficked route. Neither of them wanted to deal with the hassle of bargaining for a room at Ishgard's most popular tavern. Neither of them had much to fear from the dark, either.

That said, the silence of the street they now stood on was deafening. Only a few drafty moans of wind could be heard.

The Brume, while not the most comfortable district of Ishgard, had more than its fair share of inhabitants. The carousing of drunkards could be heard at all hours of the evening, and the crackle of burning waste wood was nigh omnipresent in the chill air. Even the dim light of moonrise seemed to be darker here. Somehow, in their revelry, the duo had likely gone taken a wrong turn.

The crunch of snow underfoot crept up from behind them. No practitioner of the ninja arts, this. Likely some cutpurse thinking to mug a few ale-addled nobles on their way home.

R'tahn and Vantel spun at the same time, but the former was slighty faster on the draw. His carbine was already out from the holster under his coat, and a warning shot cracked off against the mortar of a nearby wall. An elezen man, weathered by many years of hard living, jerked to the side on reflex. Vantel caught him across the jaw with a solid right hook, and he dropped the rusty knife he'd drawn.

The thud of the dazed man hitting the ground seemed to set the alley alight with drawn steel. Three more swept out from the shadows, blades in hand. Behind the two adventurers, more footsteps sounded. There was the faint click of a musket barrel snapping into place. Ragged breaths, not unlike jackals bearing down on a wounded sheep, echoed down the alley.

For the Warriors of Light, there was a single moment. It was brief – no longer than the space of an eyeblink – but they both knew with crystal clarity what their attackers intended and what the other would do to fight back.

Time resumed, and R'tahn dropped low. Vantel was already spinning, her sword in hand but sheath still on. She had left her shield back at the manor, as the slab of metal would have made quaffing and carousing awkward. For someone as trained in the arts of the gladiator and paladin as she, however, lack of a shield was little handicap.

One of the would-be thieves let out a sharp cry of pain as the scabbard smashed him upside his head. He collapsed to the ground, clutching a very bloodied ear. Another lunged forward, knife point leading, hoping to land a telling stab in one of the two miqo'te. He found his knife took on a life of its own and flew away, assisted by the woman's expert parry.

A third, coming up from behind, was already high in the air and poised to nestle his sword next to Vantel's throat. What stopped him was the sudden appearance of a gun barrel in his vision. R'tahn squeezed the trigger. A flash and a bang like the explosion of a bombard went off, and the thief flew backwards, propelled by the sheer concussive force of the blank round.

R'tahn stood just as Vantel completed her spin. The pair came together, back to back, like they had countless times before. Without a word, they moved in sync. Vantel stepped forward, striking like a viper at an attacker and winding him with a solid thrust to the gut. R'tahn stepped back, whipping his carbine into the face of another and breaking the man's nose before reloading.

The two pivoted, and Vantel caught a scything blow with the crossguard of her sword. R'tahn fired, aiming low, and the weathered cobblestone burst apart under the foot of the winded man. He fell without a sound, toppling backwards.

Vantel advanced, leading into the opponent she had just blocked with her shoulder. Her head ducked low, and his own whipped back from the impact. Like lightning, she followed it with a resounding blow, driving her elbow into his chest. There was a slight cracking sound. R'tahn knew that it was likely a rib. He knelt down, loading another round into his gun. As the man Vantel had struck fell, the miqo'te fired once more, and the shot tore another thief's foot out from under him. This one had been aiming a musket at the two, and his battered weapon flew into the air as he clutched his wounded leg.

Only one thief remained standing, having stayed back while the others charged. He looked decidedly less sure of the odds now. Vantel began to stride towards him, while he started to back away. With a flourish, R'tahn brought his carbine up and fired. The airborne musket spun and skittered away into some forgotten corner of the alley. The leader stopped in his tracks.

Vantel's eyes glinted like the steel of her blade in the moonlight as she drew it. She leveled it at the ringleader, her voice just as calm and measured when she spoke. “Having a bad night, are we?”

The thief glared at her. “You keep bandying,” he said. “this ain't the last you'll have seen of us.”

“Adorable,” said Vantel. Her grip didn't waver, and neither did her gaze. “Thought you'd pick on a few tavern patrons on their way home before the watch got around to this part of town?”

“Haven't the foggiest what you're talking about,” replied the man. “Just going about our own business as usual, we were.”

R'tahn pulled a scrap of paper out of the pocket of one of the fallen men. He studied it for a moment, sighed, and handed it to Vantel. He took up a mirror of her stance, gun instead of sword, while she read it.

“Oh, well, this does shed some light on the problem,” she said as she finished. “Five thousand gil for the two of us? No wonder this was such a failure. You get what you pay for, isn't that right?”

“It does seem to be rather low,” R'tahn concurred.

“Alas. Five thousand gil you'll never see, friend. May as well tell us a few things. Who sent you?”

The thief continued to glower.

There was a small sound behind the two adventurers.

The thief blinked.

The thief found himself flat on his back, head ringing, knees blossoming with pain, and the last of his gang unconscious beside him. The adventurers had both their weapons in his face, sword tip pricking the underside of his jaw and gun barrel hovering right between his eyes.

“Who sent you?” Vantel asked again, sweetly. As sweet as the edge of her blade. “One of the Monetarists, still after our heads? Some forgotten clergyman of the Vault Conspiracy, perhaps? No, wait, don't tell me. Imperial agents, offering a bounty.”

He remained sullenly silent, glaring up at the miqo'te as though his gaze could set them aflame with enough time.

“I wouldn't stay your tongue,” said R'tahn. “My friend much dislikes having to put more effort than necessary into a distraction such as this.”

The ruffian spat, despite being flat on his back with weapons pointed at him. “I don't give a dragon's frozen arsehole what you think you can do,” he said. “You don't scare me-heeeeeeeiiiiieeeee....”

Vantel turned away, having kicked him squarely in the fork. R'tahn leaned down to examine the man. His eyes had crossed and he was apparently on the verge of losing consciousness, but he seemed to be otherwise unhurt. His dignity, however, would likely never recover from the mortal blow.

There was a soft cracking noise as the woman popped her knuckles and rolled her neck. “So,” she said, almost cheerful. “How do you feel about kicking around some disreputable little shites as a nightcap?”

R'tahn, with a resigned smile, began thumbing wedges of sackcloth and sand into his carbine. “Oh, I suppose I'll have to join you,” he said. “If only to keep you from gelding the whole lot of them, accidental or no.”

The pair stalked off down the snow-strewn alley. Trouble was never far behind or ahead, but at least life was interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep a week ago and felt the need to write something involving ass-kicking. I went the FF14 route and decided to work on my action sequences. I'm pretty proud of how I did with some of the turns of phrase on this one.


End file.
